


Simple Intro

by SovietRay



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SovietRay/pseuds/SovietRay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swain and LeBlanc meet and briefly discuss plans that will shape the future of Runeterra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Intro

**Author's Note:**

> I'm horrible at formatting stuff like this but I figured I'd put it out here in case anyone read it and liked it. Just a little thing I wrote on my Google Drive about Swain and LeBlac, a possible beginning to a much larger story within the League of Legends world. I copy-pasted from Google Drive so I hope it doesn't look like total shit. Next time I write something I'll re-type it into here and try and make it look better, but I hope you enjoy. Feedback would be great, hate is fine too if you feel the need

The sound of LeBlanc’s heels on the cold stone floor echoed throughout the deserted hallway as she made her way to the Grand General’s private study. Castle Black, the official seat of the Noxian High Command, was situated atop a mountain that served as the highest point within the nation. As unimaginative and boring she thought the name Castle Black was, LeBlanc could not deny its accuracy. The castle was made entirely of stone, which meant that it became increasingly cold within the castle’s dark interior the longer the sun was absent from the sky. Everything about the castle reminded LeBlanc of a dark and foreboding dungeon. Just the kind of place she enjoyed being the most.  
Pulling her black, gold trimmed cloak against her body, LeBlanc quickened her pace along the wide stone hallway. In her right hand she held a large staff composed entirely of silver that formed a crescent shape at the top. Within the crescent were multiple purple crystals of varying sizes, suspended in the staff’s cradle by an unknown magic. She wore a golden, three-pronged headdress that featured a small, red crystal at its center, right where her forehead met her hairline. This was LeBlanc. Not the slim, beautiful, cunning woman with bright, amber eyes and shoulder length black hair who wore the magnificent headdress and magician robes that left little to the imagination; the essence of LeBlanc was held within the headdress itself. Without it she was nothing more than Evaine Ellouf, a young and promising sorceress of Noxus who became a part of the Black Rose cult when she was no older than sixteen. She remembered how hungry for power she had been back then and was reminded that her hunger was never sated. When she was chosen to carry on the persona of LeBlanc, chosen to don the ruby crystal headdress and become the Matron of The Black Rose, she knew she would soon taste the power and prestige she had craved all those years.  
She must have been reminiscing on the past for longer than she thought, longer than she had really wanted, because when she looked up, the large, wooden door to the Grand General’s study was before her. The door was cracked ever so slightly and LeBlanc could see the warm, inviting glow of a fire shining through into the dark corridor. Knocking wasn’t necessary; it never had been for Swain. Besides, she thought, he probably already knows I’m here. He was probably expecting me the second I stepped into the castle. She gently pushed the door open with the end of her staff, and saw a familiar scene laid out before her. Swain’s study was massive, yet simplistic. It was essentially a giant, personal library where all and any knowledge Swain could get his hands on over the years was stored. Books and tomes on history, tactics, politics, magic, and a hundred other topics were neatly displayed within what seemed like an endless row of mahogany bookshelves. Above the center of the room was a grand chandelier, the likes that one might expect from a castle ball room or dining room. Two spiral staircases on the left and right sides of the study lead to a second floor which was also full of bookshelves stacked to capacity. A large and ornate red and black rug, the national colors of Noxus, split the room in northern and southern halves. To her left along the wall was a large fireplace where she could hear the soft crackling of wood as it burned within the gaping, brick mouth of the hearth. Two large and comfortable armchairs were situated in front of the fireplace with a smaller coffee table between them. In the farthest chair from the entrance sat Jericho Swain.  
Before moving over to join him at the fire, LeBlanc studied Swain’s aged and frail figure. He wore a green and gold robe that served as his official military garb. She always found it odd that his colors of choice were green and gold and not red and black considering how everything else around him sported the colors of Noxus. Although his robe was normally accompanied by a large, gold colored chestplate and matching shoulder pauldrons, this particular night Swain had removed what little armor he did wear on a day-to-day basis in favor of just one extra article of clothing attached to his left shoulder. It was a perch which was currently occupied by none other than Swain’s raven friend. That damn bird never leaves his side, LeBlanc noted. Almost as if the bird could read her mind, it looked over in her direction and let out a shrill, loud caw. LeBlanc narrowed her eyes at the beast and maneuvered her way across the room to the empty, blood red armchair next to Swain. The warmth of the fire felt nice on her skin and she removed her cloak, draping it over the arm of the chair, to let her body absorb the flame’s heat. If she said that her skin was not pale, she’d be lying; just one of the drawbacks to living underground in a magical and secretive cult, she figured.  
“Emilia,” Swain said to her, his voice deep and raspy, “it has been awhile since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?” The sound of her first name, no, LeBlanc’s first name, threw her off guard for a moment. It had indeed been a long time since the two had last met, almost long enough for LeBlanc to forget how casual Swain liked to talk behind closed doors. She regained her poise and turned her head to smile at the man. She noticed his cane, adorned at the top with a golden raven’s head, leaning against the side of his chair.  
“Jericho. It’s been awhile, you’re right. It’d be rude of me not to ask how you’re doing, and how things are with the capital.”  
Swain unlocked his fingers and gave each one a crack before returning his hands to their locked position, hovering out in front of his face, elbows resting atop his knees. The lower portion of his face, from the middle of his crooked nose on down past his chin and to his neck, was covered with a grey cloth that Swain rarely ever removed. Or maybe he just had a lot of grey cloth that he used to hide his face, and he switched the cloth out for a fresh one every once in awhile. LeBlanc honestly could not tell. The cloth didn’t look too dirty, so she had to assume he utilized multiple grey color cloths. The sound of Swain’s voice snapped her back to reality.  
“I’ve been fine, as usual. Darkwill left many old texts, tomes, and grimoires in this study so I have been hard at work reading as many of them as possible to gain some more insight into our little...situation. The man might have been weak, and stupid, but he was a fine mage. His knowledge will be immensely beneficial to our future work. I like to think of it as a gift, from one Grand General on to the next.” With this remark Swain chuckled, his pet bird squawking along with him as if to join him in his moment of humor. LeBlanc rolled her eyes and readjusted her seating within the armchair. Those two could be too much sometimes, talking and squawking together like a pair of old hags.  
“Yes, well, that’s good to hear. Our little plan we’ve been hatching up is actually the reason why I’m here,” LeBlanc said. “I’ve heard back from my contact out West.” Under his cloth LeBlanc could tell that Swain was grinning. This was the good news he had hoped for, after all. This event was the catalyst that would push the two of them into a state of unimaginable power and near immortality. LeBlanc’s heartbeat began to quicken just thinking about it.  
“This is very good news, very good news indeed,” Swain said, raising his right hand to his shoulder to stroke the raven’s chin. The raven closed its eyes and nodded its head in agreement. “You’ve done excellent work, LeBlanc. And much sooner than I was expecting, no less. Not many things impress me this day and age but you, my friend, always find a way.” LeBlanc was no stranger to being complimented, but she always felt good about herself when being complimented by Jericho Swain. Say what they will about his morals or methods, LeBlanc knew that if there was one good quality in him, it was his honesty. The fact that he was impressed by her ability and swiftness only reassured her of her power. “There is only one problem I foresee. Is this contact of yours trustworthy? I would rather have the full support of a trusty ally, not a flimsy backstabber. I need to know this will work or else we’re risking everything for nothing. The reward is immense, and the risk is as well, and I do not need all my years as the Master Tactician of the Noxian military to know that.”  
LeBlanc stood, gracefully walked over to where Swain was seated, and sat down on the rug at the foot of his chair. She reached out and held one of his withered, scarred hands in her own and as the warmth of the fire travelled along her back she was once again reminded of the past.  
“Trust me Jericho, she’s trustworthy. I knew her, even before fate had decided that the two of us were destined to become more than mere pawns on the world stage. She was gentle and kind, if not a bit sheepish and naive. Still, she had conviction. The black mist of the Isles has a way of bringing out the strongest qualities within a person, as well as their inner demons. Her conviction and dedication to power and glory has not waned. We have talked lengths about what is needed to be done and she had agreed to help our cause.” LeBlanc stood, gathered her cloak and staff, and made her way to the entrance of the study room. The road ahead would be long and dangerous, yet LeBlanc only felt excitement. She hadn’t felt this alive, this young, in many years. Swain could feel it, too. The wind picked up and Swain’s raven fluttered its wings and flew out one of the study’s windows and into the night, joining more of its kind in a search for a midnight snack. Everything she had done the past couple years was in preparation for this day. Today would be the beginning of the end, an end that promised a magnificent beginning for both Swain and herself. She had work to do, however. She needed the Prince and his blood to fuel the fire that would engulf the world. This was to be her first task. As she reached the doorway she stopped to look back at Swain, still seated in his chair, holding his left hand in his right.  
“The Black Rose shall bloom once more.”


End file.
